^oUJ  W'ia 


)<i\r- 


SONGS  OF  ACTION 


SONGS  OF  ACTION 


A.  CONAN  DOYLE 

AUTHOR   OF  "mICAH   CLARKE,"  **THE  WHITE  COMPANY," 
"RODNEY   STONE,"  **  UNCLE  BERNAC,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY  &  McCLURE  CO. 

1898 


^%ii& 


HOOM 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
DOUBLEDAY  &   McClURE   Co. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Song  of  the  Bow i 

Cremona 4 

The  Storming  Party 14 

The  Frontier  Line 19 

Corporal  Dick's  Promotion 22 

A  Forgotten  Tale 30 

Pennarby  Mine 33 

A  Rover  Chanty 37 

A  Ballad  of  the  Ranks 42 

A  Lay  of  the  Links        ......  48 

The  Dying  Whip 52 

Master 64 

H.M.S.  ^'Foudroyant" 66 

The  Farnshire  Cup 70 

The  Groom's  Story 82 

With  the  Chiddingfolds 93 

V 


214642 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

A  Hunting  Morning 99 

The  Old  Gray  Fox loi 

'Ware  Holes 106 

The  Home-coming  of  the  **  Eurydice"        ,  11 1 

The  Inner  Room 116 

The  Irish  Colonel 121 

The  Blind  Archer 122 

A  Parable 126 

A  Tragedy 127 

The  Passing 129 

The  Franklin's  Maid 139 

The  Old  Huntsman 141 


SONGS  OF   ACTION 


THE   SONG   OF   THE  BOW 

What  of  the  bow  ? 

The  bow  was  made  in  England  ; 
Of  true  wood,  of  yew-wood, 
The  wood  of  English  bows ; 
So  men  who  are  free 
Love  the  old  yew-tree 
And  the  land  where  the  yew-tree  grows. 

What  of  the  cord  ? 

The  cord  was  made  in  England : 
A  rough  cord,  a  tough  cord, 

A  cord  that  bowmen  love ; 


2  THE   SONG   OF  THE    BOW 

And  so  we  will  sing 
Of  the  hempen  string 
And  the  land  where  the  cord  was  wove. 

What  of  the  shaft? 

The  shaft  was  cut  in  England : 
A  long  shaft,  a  strong  shaft. 
Barbed  and  trim  and  true ; 
So  we  '11  drink  all  together 
To  the  gray  goose-feather 
And  the  land  where  the  gray  goose  flew. 

What  of  the  mark? 

Ah,  seek  it  not  in  England : 
A  bold  mark,  our  old  mark, 
Is  waiting  over-sea. 

When  the  strings  harp  in  chorus, 
And  the  lion  flag  is  o'er  us. 
It  is  there  that  our  mark  will  be. 


THE   SONG   OF  THE   BOW  3 

What  of  the  men? 

The  men  were  bred  in  England : 
The  bowmen — the  yeomen, 
The  lads  of  dale  and  fell. 

Here  's  to  you  —  and  to  you  I 
To  the  hearts  that  are  true 
And  the  land  where  the  true  hearts  dwell. 


CREMONA 

[The  French  Army,  including  a  part  of  the  Irish 
Brigade,  under  Marshal  Villeroy,  held  the  fortified 
town  of  Cremona  during  the  winter  of  1 702.  Prince 
Eugene,  with  the  Imperial  Army,  surprised  it  one 
morning,  and,  owing  to  the  treachery  of  a  priest, 
occupied  the  whole  city  before  the  alarm  was  given. 
Villeroy  was  captured,  together  with  many  of  the 
French  garrison.  The  Irish,  however,  consisting 
of  the  regiments  of  Dillon  and  of  Burke,  held  a  fort 
commanding  the  river  gate,  and  defended  themselves 
all  day,  in  spite  of  Prince  Eugene's  efforts  to  win 
them  over  to  his  cause.  Eventually  Eugene,  being 
unable  to  take  the  post,  was  compelled  to  withdraw 
from  the  city.] 

The  Grenadiers  of  Austria  are  proper  men 

and  tall ; 
The  Grenadiers  of  Austria  have  scaled  the 

city  wall ; 

4 


CREMONA  S 

They  have  marched  from  far  away 
Ere  the  dawning  of  the  day, 
And  the  morning  saw  them  masters  of 
Cremona. 

There  's  not  a  man  to  whisper,  there  's  not 

a  horse  to  neigh, 
Of  the  footmen  of  Lorraine  and  the  riders 
of  Dupres ; 
They  have  crept  up  every  street. 
In  the  market-place  they  meet, 
They  are  holding  every  vantage  in  Cre- 
mona. 

The  Marshal  Villeroy  he  has  started  from 

his  bed ; 
The  Marshal  Villeroy  has  no  wig  upon 

his  head ; 


6  CREMONA 

"  I  have  lost  my  men  !  "  quoth  he, 
"And  my  men  they  have  lost  me, 
And  I  sorely  fear  we  both  have  lost  Cre- 
mona. " 

Prince  Eugene  of  Austria  is  in  the  market- 
place ; 
Prince  Eugene  of  Austria  has  smiles  upon 
his  face ; 
Says  he,  "  Our  work  is  done, 
For  the  Citadel  is  won. 
And  the  black  and  yellow  flag  flies  o'er 
Cremona." 

Major  Dan  O'Mahony  is  in  the  barrack 
square, 

And  just  six  hundred  Irish  lads  are  wait- 
ing for  him  there; 


CREMONA  7 

Says  he,  "  Come  in  your  shirt. 
And  you  won't  take  any  hurt, 
For  the  morning  air  is  pleasant  in  Cre- 
mona." 

Major  Dan  O'Mahony  is  at  the  barrack 

gate, 
And  just  six  hundred  Irish  lads  will  nei- 
ther stay  nor  wait ; 
There  's  Dillon  and  there  's  Burke, 
And  there  '11  be  some  bloody  work 
Ere  the  Kaiserlics  shall  boast  they  hold 
Cremona. 

Major  Dan  O'Mahony  has  reached  the 
river  fort. 

And  just  six  hundred  Irish  lads  are  join- 
ing in  the  sport ; 


8  CREMONA 

"  Come,  take  a  hand ! "  says  he, 
"  And  if  you  will  stand  by  me, 
Then  it  's  glory  to  the  man  who  takes 
Cremona ! " 

Prince  Eugene  of  Austria  has  frowns  upon 

his  face, 
And  loud  he  calls  his  Galloper  of  Irish 
blood  and  race : 
''  MacDonnell,  ride,  I  pray. 
To  your  countrymen,  and  say 
That  only  they  are  left  in  all  Cremona !  " 

MacDonnell  he  has  reined  his  mare  beside 

the  river  dike, 
And  he  has  tied  the  parley  flag  upon  a 
sergeant's  pike; 
Six  companies  were  there 
From  Limerick  and  Clare, 
The  last  of  all  the  guardians  of  Cremona. 


CREMONA  9 

"Now,  Major  Dan  O'Mahony,  give  up  the 

river  gate, 
Or,  Major  Dan  O'Mahony,  you  '11  find  it  is 
too  late ; 
For  when  I  gallop  back 
'T  is  the  signal  for  attack. 
And  no  quarter  for  the  Irish  in  Cremona ! " 

And  Major  Dan  he  laughed :  "  Faith,  if 

what  you  say  be  true. 
And  if  they  will  not  come  until  they  hear 
again  from  you. 
Then  there  will  be  no  attack, 
For  you  're  never  going  back, 
And  we  '11  keep  you  snug  and  safely  in 
Cremona." 

All  the  weary  day  the  German  stormers 

came. 
All  the  weary  day  they  were  faced  by  fire 

and  flame ; 


lo  CREMONA 

They  have    filled   the    ditch  with 

dead, 
And  the  river  's  running  red, 
But  they  cannot  win  the  gateway  of 
Cremona. 


All  the  weary  day,  again,  again,  again, 
The  horsemen  of  Dupres  and  the  footmen 
of  Lorraine, 
Taafe  and  Herberstein, 
And  the  riders  of  the  Rhine ; 
It 's  a  mighty  price  they  're  paying  for 
Cremona. 

Time  and  time  they  came  with  the  deep- 
mouthed  German  roar. 

Time  and  time  they  broke  like  the  wave 
upon  the  shore ; 


CREMONA  II 

For  better  men  were  there 
From  Limerick  and  Clare, 
And  who  will  take  the  gateway  of  Cre- 
mona? 

Prince  Eugene  has  watched,  and  he  gnaws 

his  nether  lip ; 
Prince  Eugene  has  cursed  as  he  saw  his 
chances  slip : 
-CallofF!     CallofF!"  he  cried, 
''  It  is  nearing  eventide, 
And  I  fear  our  work  is  finished  in 
Cremona." 


Says  Wauchop  to  McAuUiffe,  "  Their 

fire  is  growing  slack." 
Says  Major  Dan  O'Mahony,  ''  It  is  their 

last  attack ; 


12  CREMONA 

But  who  will  stop  the  game 
While  there  's  light  to  play  the  same, 
And  to  walk  a  short  way  with  them  from 
Cremona  ?  " 

And  so  they  snarl  behind  them,  and  beg 

them  turn  and  come. 
They  have  taken  Neuberg's  standard,  they 
have  taken  Diak's  drum; 
And  along  the  winding  Po, 
Beard  on  shoulder,  stern  and  slow 
The  Kaiserlics  are  riding  from  Cremona. 

Just  two  hundred  Irish  lads  are  shouting 

on  the  wall ; 
Four  hundred  more  are  lying  who  can 
hear  no  slogan  call ; 
But  what  's  the  odds  of  that. 
For  it 's  all  the  same  to  Pat 
If  he  pays  his  debt  in  Dublin  or  Cremona. 


CREMONA  13 

Says  General  de  Vaudray,  "  You  've  done 

a  soldier's  work ! 
And  every  tongue  in  France  shall  talk  of 
Dillon  and  of  Burke ! 
Ask  what  you  will  this  day. 
And  be  it  what  it  may, 
It  IS  granted  to  the  heroes  of  Cremona." 

"  Why,  then,"  says  Dan  O'Mahony,  "  one 

favor  we  entreat, 
We  were  called  a  little  early,  and  our 
toilet  's  not  complete. 
We  've  no  quarrel  with  the  shirt. 
But  the  breeches  would  n't  hurt. 
For  the  evening  air  is  chilly  in  Cremona." 


THE  STORMING   PARTY 

Said  Paul  Leroy  to  Barrow, 
"  Though  the  breach  is  steep  and  narrow, 
If  we  only  gain  the  summit 

Then  it 's  odds  we  hold  the  fort. 
I  have  ten  and  you  have  twenty. 
And  the  thirty  should  be  plenty, 
With  Henderson  and  Henty 

And  McDermott  in  support." 

Said  Barrow  to  Leroy, 
"  It  's  a  solid  job,  my  boy. 

For  they  've  flanked  it,  and  they  've 
banked  it. 
And  they  've  bored  it  with  a  mine. 
14 


THE   STORMING   PARTY  15 

But  it  's  only  fifty  paces 

Ere  we  look  them  in  the  faces; 

And  the  men  are  in  their  places, 

With  their  toes  upon  the  line." 

Said  Paul  Leroy  to  Barrow, 
"  See  that  first  ray,  like  an  arrow, 
How  it  tinges  all  the  fringes 

Of  the  sullen  drifting  skies. 
They  told  me  to  begin  it 
At  five-thirty  to  the  minute, 
And  at  thirty-one  I  'm  in  it. 

Or  my  sub  will  get  his  rise. 

"  So  we  '11  wait  the  signal  rocket, 
Till  .  .  .  Barrow,  show  that  locket, 
That  turquoise-studded  locket, 
Which  you  slipped  from  out  your  pocket 
And  are  pressing  with  a  kiss ! 


i6  THE   STORMING    PARTY 

Turquoise-Studded,  spiral-twisted, 
It  is  hers !     And  I  had  missed  it 
From  her  chain;  and  you  have  kissed  it: 
Barrow,  villain,  what  is  this?" 


"  Leroy,  I  had  a  warning. 

That  my  time  has  come  this  morning. 

So  I  speak  with  frankness,  scorning 

To  deny  the  thing  that  's  true. 
Yes,  it  's  Amy's,  is  the  trinket. 
Little  turquoise-studded  trinket. 
Not  her  gift  —  oh,  never  think  it ! 

For  her  thoughts  were  all  for  you. 

"  As  we  danced  I  gently  drew  it 
From  her  chain — she  never  knew  it; 
But  I  love  her — yes,  I  love  her: 
I  am  candid,  I  confess. 


THE   STORMING   PARTY  17 

But  I  never  told  her,  never, 
For  I  knew  't  was  vain  endeavor, 
And  she  loved  you — loved  you  ever, 

Would  to  God  she  loved  you  less ! " 

"  Barrow,  Barrow,  you  shall  pay  me ! 
Me,  your  comrade,  to  betray  me ! 
Well  I  know  that  little  Amy 

Is  as  true  as  wife  can  be. 
She  to  give  this  love-badged  locket ! 
She  had  rather  .  .  .  Ha,  the  rocket ! 
Hi,  McDougall !     Sound  the  bugle  ! 

Yorkshires,  Yorkshires,  follow  me  ! " 

Said  Paul  Leroy  to  Amy, 

'*  Well,  wifie,  you  may  blame  me. 

For  my  passion  overcame  me. 

When  he  told  me  of  his  shame. 


i8  THE   STORMING    PARTY 

But  when  I  saw  him  lying, 
Dead  amid  a  ring  of  dying, 
Why,  poor  devil,  I  was  trying 
To  forget  and  not  to  blame. 

''And  this  locket,  I  unclasped  it 
From  the  fingers  that  still  grasped  it ; 
He  told  me  how  he  got  it. 

How  he  stole  it  in  a  valse." 
And  she  listened  leaden-hearted : 
Oh,  the  weary  day  they  parted  I 
For  she  loved  him — yes,  she  loved  him  — 
For  his  youth  and  for  his  truth. 

And  for  those  dying  words,  so  false. 


THE  FRONTIER   LINE 

What  marks  the  frontier  line  ? 

Thou  man  of  India,  say  I 
Is  it  the  Himalayas  sheer, 
The  rocks  and  valleys  of  Cashmere, 
Or  Indus  as  she  seeks  the  south 
From  Attoch  to  the  fivefold  mouth  ? 
''  Not  that !     Not  that !  " 

Then  answer  me,  I  pray  I 
What  marks  the  frontier  line  ? 

What  marks  the  frontier  line  ? 
Thou  man  of  Burma,  speak  ! 
Is  it  traced  from  Mandalay, 
And  down  the  marches  of  Cathay, 
19 


20  THE   FRONTIER   LINE 

From  Bhamo  south  to  Kiang-mai, 
And  where  the  buried  rubies  lie  ? 
"  Not  that !  Not  that ! " 
Then  tell  me  what  I  seek  : 
What  marks  the  frontier  line  ? 

What  marks  the  frontier  line  ? 

Thou  Africander,  say ! 
Is  it  shown  by  Zulu  kraal, 
By  Drakensberg  or  winding  Vaal, 
Or  where  the  Shire  waters  seek 
Their  outlet  east  at  Mozambique  ? 
"  Not  that !  Not  that ! 

There  is  a  surer  way 
To  mark  the  frontier  line." 

What  marks  the  frontier  line  ? 

Thou  man  of  Egypt,  tell ! 
Is  it  traced  on  Luxor's  sand, 
Where  Karnak's  painted  pillars  stand, 


THE   FRONTIER  LINE  21 

Or  where  the  river  runs  between 
The  Ethiop  and  Bishareen? 
"  Not  that !  Not  that ! 
By  neither  stream  nor  well 
We  mark  the  frontier  line. 

"  But  be  it  east  or  west, 

One  common  sign  we  bear, 
The  tongue  may  change,  the  soil,  the  sky. 
But  where  your  British  brothers  lie, 
The  lonely  cairn,  the  nameless  grave. 
Still  fringe  the  flowing  Saxon  wave. 
'T  is  that!  'T  is  where 

'^hey  lie — the  men  who  placed  it  there. 
That  marks  the  frontier  line." 


CORPORAL   DICK'S  PROMOTION 

A    BALLAD    OF    '82 

The  Eastern  day  was  well-nigh  o'er 
When,  parched  with  thirst  and  travel  sore, 
Two  of  McPherson's  flanking  corps 

Across  the  Desert  were  tramping. 
They  had  wandered  off  from  the  beaten 

track 
And  now  were  wearily  harking  back, 
Ever  staring  round  for  the  signal  jack 

That  marked  their  comrades  camping. 

The  one  was  Corporal  Robert  Dick, 
Bearded  and  burly,  short  and  thick. 
Rough  of  speech  and  in  temper  quick, 
A  hard-faced  old  rapscallion. 


CORPORAL    DICK'S   PROMOTION   23 

The  other,  fresh  from  the  barrack  square, 
Was  a  raw  recruit,  smooth-cheeked  and 

fair, 
Half  grown,  half  drilled,  with  the  weedy  air 
Of  a  draft  from  the  home  battalion. 

Weary  and  parched  and  hunger-torn. 
They  had  wandered  on  from  early  morn. 
And  the  young  boy-soldier  limped  forlorn. 

Now  stumbling  and  now  falling. 
Around  the  orange  sand-curves  lay. 
Flecked  with  boulders,  black  or  gray, 
Death-silent,  save  that  far  away 

A  kite  was  shrilly  calling. 

A  kite  ?     Was  that  a  kite  ?     The  yell 
That  shrilly  rose  and  faintly  fell  ? 
No  kite's,  and  yet  the  kite  knows  well 
The  long-drawn,  wild  halloo. 


24   CORPORAL   DICK^S   PROMOTION 

And  right  athwart  the  evening  sky 
The  yellow  sand-spray  spurtled  high, 
And  shrill  and  shriller  swelled  the  cry 
Of  "Allah!  Allahu!" 


The  Corporal  peered  at  the  crimson  West, 
Hid  his  pipe  in  his  khaki  vest. 
Growled  out  an  oath  and  onward  pressed, 

Still  glancing  over  his  shoulder. 
"  Bedouins,  mate  !  "  he  curtly  said ; 
"  We  '11  find  some  work  for  steel  and  lead, 
"  And  maybe  sleep  in  a  sandy  bed, 

Before  we  're  one  hour  older. 

"But  just  one  flutter  before  we  're  done. 
Stiffen  your  lip  and  stand,  my  son ; 
We  '11  take  this  bloomin'  circus  on  : 

Ball-cartridge  load !     Now,  steady ! " 


CORPORAL   DICK'S   PROMOTION   25 

With  a  curse  and  a  prayer  the  two  faced 

round, 
Dogged  and  grim  they  stood  their  ground, 
And  their  breech-blocks  snapped  with  a 
crisp  clean  sound 
As  the  rifles  sprang  to  the  "  ready." 

Alas  for  the  Emir  Ali  Khan ! 

A  hundred  paces  before  his  clan, 

That  ebony  steed  of  the  prophet's  breed 

Is  the  foal  of  death  and  of  danger. 
A  spurt  of  fire,  a  gasp  of  pain, 
A  bluish  blur  on  the  yellow  plain,    , 
The  chief  was  down,  and  his  bridle  rein 

Was  in  the  grip  of  the  stranger. 

With  the  light  of  hope  on  his  rugged  face. 
The  Corporal  sprang  to  the  dead  man's 
place, 


26   CORPORAL   DICK'S   PROMOTION 

One  prick  with  the  steel,  one  thrust  with 

the  heel, 
And  where  was  the  man  to  outride 

him? 
A  grip  of  his  knees,  a  toss  of  his  rein. 
He  was  settling  her  down  to  her  gallop 

again. 
When  he  stopped,  for  he  heard  just  one 

faltering  word 
From  the  young  recruit  beside  him. 

One  faltering  word  from  pal  to  pal. 
But  it  found  the  heart  of  the  Corporal. 
He  had  sprung  to  the  sand,  he  had  lent 

him  a  hand, 
"  Up,  mate !  They  '11  be  'ere  in  a 

minute ; 
Off  with  you  !     No  palaver !     Go ! 
I  '11  bide  be'ind  and  run  this  show. 


CORPORAL   DICK'S   PROMOTION   27 

Promotion  has  been  cursed  slow. 

And  this  is  my  chance  to  win  it." 

Into  the  saddle  he  thrust  him  quick, 
Spurred  the  black  mare  with  a  bayonet 

prick. 
Watched  her  gallop  with  plunge  and  with 
kick. 
Away  o'er  the  desert  careering. 
Then  he  turned  with  a  softened  face. 
And  loosened  the  strap  of  his  cartridge- 
case. 
While  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  the  dear 
old  place 
In  the  sunny  Hampshire  clearing. 

The  young  boy-private,  glancing  back, 
Saw  the  Bedouins'  wild  attack. 
And  heard  the  sharp  Martini  crack. 


28    CORPORAL   DICK'S   PROMOTION 

But  as  he  gazed,  already 
The  fierce  fanatic  Arab  band 
Was  closing  in  on  every  hand. 
Until  one  tawny  swirl  of  sand 

Concealed  them  in  its  eddy. 

A  squadron  of  British  horse  that  night, 
Galloping  hard  in  the  shadowy  light. 
Came  on  the  scene  of  that  last  stern  fight. 

And  found  the  Corporal  lying 
Silent  and  grim  on  the  trampled  sand. 
His  rifle  grasped  in  his  stiffened  hand. 
With  the  warrior  pride  of  one  who  died 

'Mid  a  ring  of  the  dead  and  the 
dying. 

And  still  when  twilight  shadows  fall. 
After  the  evening  bugle-call, 
In  bivouac  or  in  barrack  hall, 


CORPORAL   DICK'S  PROMOTION    29 

His  comrades  speak  of  the  Corporal, 

His  death  and  his  devotion. 
And  there  are  some  who  like  to  say 
That  perhaps  a  hidden  meaning  lay 
In  the  words  he  spoke,  and  that  the  day 
When  his  rough  bold  spirit  passed  away 
M^as  the  day  that  he  won  promotion. 


A  FORGOTTEN  TALE 

[The  scene  of  this  ancient  fight,  recorded  by  Frois- 
sart,  is  still  called  **  Altura  de  los  Inglesos."  Five 
hundred  years  later  Wellington's  soldiers  were  fight- 
ing on  the  same  ground.] 

"  Say,  what  saw  you  on  the  hill, 

Campesino  Garcia  ?  " 
"I  saw  my  brindled  heifer  there, 
A  trail  of  bowmen,  spent  and  bare, 
And  a  little  man  on  a  sorrel  mare 

Riding  slow  before  them." 

"  Say,  what  saw  you  in  the  vale, 

Campesino  Garcia  ?  " 
"  There  I  saw  my  lambing  ewe 
And  an  army  riding  through ; 
Thick  and  brave  the  pennons  flew 

From  the  lances  o'er  them." 
30 


A   FORGOTTEN   TALE  31 

"  Then  what  saw  you  on  the  hill, 

Campesino  Garcia  ?  " 
"  I  saw  beside  the  milking  byre. 
White  with  want  and  black  with  mire. 
The  little  man  with  eyes  afire 

Marshaling  his  bowmen." 

*'  Then  what  saw  you  in  the  vale, 

Campesino  Garcia  ?  " 
"There  I  saw  my  bullocks  twain. 
And  amid  my  uncut  grain 
All  the  hardy  men  of  Spain 

Spurring  for  their  foemen." 

"  Nay,  but  there  is  more  to  tell, 

Campesino  Garcia ! " 
"I  could  not  bide  the  end  to  view; 
I  had  graver  things  to  do. 
Tending  on  the  lambing  ewe 

Down  among  the  clover." 


32  A   FORGOTTEN   TALE 

"  Ah,  but  tell  me  what  you  heard, 

Campesino  Garcia ! " 
"  Shouting  from  the  mountain-side, 
Shouting  until  eventide ; 
But  it  dwindled  and  it  died 

Ere  milking  time  was  over." 

"  Nay,  but  saw  you  nothing  more, 

Campesino  Garcia  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  saw  them  lying  there. 
The  little  man  and  sorrel  mare ; 
And  in  their  ranks  the  bowmen  fair. 

With  their  staves  before  them." 

"  And  the  hardy  men  of  Spain, 

Campesino  Garcia  ?  " 
"  Hush !  but  we  are  Spanish  too ; 
More  I  may  not  say  to  you : 
May  God's  benison,  like  dew. 

Gently  settle  o'er  them." 


PENNARBY   MINE 

Pennarby  shaft  is  dark  and  steep. 
Eight  foot  wide,  eight  hundred  deep. 
Stout  the  bucket  and  tough  the  cord. 
Strong  as  the  arm  of  Winchman  Ford. 

"  Never  look  down  ! 

Stick  to  the  line  ! " 
That  was  the  saying  at  Pennarby  mine. 

A  stranger  came  to  Pennarby  shaft  — 
Lord,  to  see  how  the  miners  laughed ! 
White  in  the  collar  and  stiff  in  the  hat. 
With  his  patent  boots  and  his  silk  cravat, 

Picking  his  way, 

Dainty  and  fine. 
Stepping  on  tiptoe  to  Pennarby  mine. 
33 


34  PENNARBY  MINE 

Touring  from  London,  so  he  said. 

Was  it  copper  they  dug  for?  or  gold? 

or  lead  ? 
Where  did  they  find   it?     How  did  it 

come? 
If  he  tried  with  a  shovel    might  he  get 

some? 

Stooping  so  much 
Was  bad  for  the  spine ; 
And  was  n't  it  warmish  in  Pennarby  mine  ? 


'T  was  like  two  worlds  that  met  that  day  — 
The  world  of  work  and  the  world  of  play ; 
And  the  grimy  lads  from  the  reeking  shaft 
Nudged  each  other  and  grinned  and  chaffed. 

"  Got  'em  all  out ! " 

*'  A  cousin  of  mine ! " 
So  ran  the  banter  at  Pennarby  mine. 


PENNARBY   MINE  35 

And  Carnbrae  Bob,  the  Pennarby  wit, 
Told  him  the  facts  about  the  pit : 
How  they  bored  the  shaft  till  the  brim- 
stone smell 
Warned  them  off  from  tapping  —  well, 

He  would  n't  say  what. 

But  they  took  it  as  sign 
To  dig  no  deeper  in  Pennarby  mine. 

Then  leaning  over  and  peering  in, 
He  was  pointing  out  what  he  said  was  tin 
In  the  ten-foot  lode  —  a  crash  !  a  jar ! 
A  grasping  hand  and  a  splintered  bar. 
Gone  in  his  strength, 
With  the  lips  that  laughed  — 
Oh,  the  pale  faces  round  Pennarby  shaft ! 

Far  down  on  a  narrow  ledge. 

They  saw  him  cling  to  the  crumbling  edge. 


^6  PENNARBY  MINE 

"  Wait  for  the  bucket !    Hi,  man !    Stay ! 
That  rope  ain't  safe  !     It 's  worn  away ! 
He  's  taking  his  chance, 
Slack  out  the  line  ! 
Sweet  Lord  be  with  him  ! "  cried  Pennarby 
mine. 

"  He 's  got  him !    He  has  him !    Pull  with 

a  will ! 
Thank  God !     He  's  over  and  breathing 

still. 
And  he — Lord's  sakes  now !     What 's 

that?     Well! 
Bio  wed  if  it  ain't  our  London  swell. 
Your  heart  is  right 
If  your  coat  is  fine : 
Give  us  your  hand  ! "  cried  Pennarby 

mine. 


A   ROVER   CHANTY 

A  trader  sailed  from  Stepney  town- — 
Wake  her  up !     Shake  her  up  I     Try  her 

with  the  mainsail ! 
A  trader  sailed  from  Stepney  town 
With  a  keg  full  of  gold  and  a  velvet 
gown : 
Ho,  the  bully  rover  Jack, 
Waiting  with  his  yard  aback. 
Out  upon  the  Lowland  sea ! 

The  trader  he  had  a  daughter  fair — 
Wake  her  up !     Shake  her  up  !     Try  her 

with  the  foresail ! 
The  trader  he  had  a  daughter  fair, 
She  had  gold  in  her  ears,  and  gold  in  her 

hair: 

37 


38  A   ROVER    CHANTY 

All  for  bully  rover  Jack, 
Waiting  with  his  yard  aback, 
Out  upon  the  Lowland  sea ! 

"Alas  the  day,  oh  daughter  mine! — 

Shake  her  up !     Wake  her  up  !     Try  her 
with  the  topsail ! 

"  Alas  the  day,  oh  daughter  mine ! 

Yon  red,  red  flag  is  a  fearsome  sign ! " 
Ho,  the  bully  rover  Jack, 
Reaching  on  the  weather  tack. 

Out  upon  the  Lowland  sea ! 


"  A  fearsome  flag ! "  the  maiden  cried  — 
Wake  her  up  !     Shake  her  up !     Try  her 

with  the  jib-sail ! 
"  A  fearsome  flag ! "  the  maiden  cried, 
"  But  comelier  men  I  never  have  spied ! " 


A   ROVER   CHANTY  39 

Ho,  the  bully  rover  Jack, 
Reaching  on  the  weather  tack. 
Out  upon  the  Lowland  sea ! 

There  's  a  wooden  path  that  the  rovers 

know  — 
Wake  her  up !    Shake  her  up !     Try  her 

with  the  headsails ! 
There  's  a  wooden  path  that  the  rovers 

know, 
Where  none  come  back,  though  many 

must  go : 
Ho,  the  bully  rover  Jack, 
Lying  with  his  yard  aback. 
Out  upon  the  Lowland  sea ! 

Where  is  the  trader  of  Stepney  town  ?  — 
Wake  her  up !     Shake  her  up !     Every 
stick  a-bending ! 


40  A   ROVER   CHANTY 

Where  is  the  trader  of  Stepney  town  ? 

There  's  gold  on  the  capstan,  and  blood 
on  the  gown : 
Ho  for  bully  Rover  Jack, 
Waiting  with  his  yard  aback, 

Out  upon  the  Lowland  sea ! 


Where  is  the  maiden  who  knelt  at  his 

side  ?  — 
Wake  her  up !     Shake  her  up !     Every 

stitch  a-drawing ! 
Where  is  the  maiden  who  knelt  at  his 

side? 
We  gowned  her  in  scarlet,  and  chose  her 

our  bride  : 
Ho,  the  bully  rover  Jack, 
Reaching  on  the  weather  tack. 
Right  across  the  Lowland  &ea ! 


A   ROVER   CHANTY  41 

So  it 's  up  and  it 's  over  to  Stornoway  Bay, 
Pack  it  on !     Crack  it  on  !     Try  her  with 

the  stunsails ! 
It  's  off  on  a  bowline  to  Stornoway  Bay, 
Where  the  liquor  is  good  and  the  lasses 
are  gay : 
Waiting  for  their  bully  Jack, 
Watching  for  him  sailing  back, 
Right  across  the  Lowland  sea. 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  RANKS 

Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

A  lad  from  over  the  Tweed. 
Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know 

He  comes  of  a  soldier  breed. 
So  drink  together  to  rock  and  heather, 

Out  where  the  red  deer  run, 
And  stand  aside  for  Scotland's  pride — 
The  man  that  carries  the  gun  I 
For  the  Colonel  rides  before, 

The  Major  's  on  the  flank. 
The  Captains  and  the  Adjutant 
Are  in  the  foremost  rank. 

4?2 


A   BALLAD    OF  THE   RANKS        43 

But  when  it 's  "  Action  front !  " 
And  fighting  's  to  be  done. 

Come  one,  come  all,  you  stand  or  fall 
By  the  man  who  holds  the  gun. 

Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

A  lad  from  a  Yorkshire  dale. 
Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know 

The  heart  that  never  will  fail. 
Here  's  to  the  fire  of  Lancashire, 

And  here  's  to  her  soldier  son ! 
For  the  hard-bit  north  has  sent  him  forth  — 

The  lad  that  carries  the  gun. 

Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

A  lad  from  a  Midland  shire. 
Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know 

He  comes  of  an  English  sire. 


44        A  BALLAD   OF  THE   RANKS 

Here  's  a  glass  to  a  Midland  lass, 
And  each  can  choose  the  one. 

But  east  and  west  we  claim  the  best 
For  the  man  that  carries  the  gun. 

Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

A  lad  from  the  hills  of  Wales. 
Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know 

That  Taffy  is  hard  as  nails. 
There  are  several  IPs  in  the  place  where 
he  dwells. 

And  of  w's  more  than  one, 
With  a  Llan  and  a  pen,  but  it  breeds  good 
men. 

And  it 's  they  who  carry  the  gun. 

Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

A  lad  from  the  windy  west. 


A   BALLAD    OF   THE   RANKS       45 

Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know 

That  he  is  one  of  the  best. 
There  's  Bristol   rough,  and   Gloucester 
tough. 

And  Devon  yields  to  none. 
Or  you  may  get  in  Somerset 

Your  lad  to  carry  the  gun. 


Who  carries  the  gun? 

A  lad  from  London  town. 
Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know 

The  stuff  that  never  backs  down. 
He  has  learned  to  joke  at  the  powder 
smoke. 

For  he  is  the  fogsmoke's  son. 
And  his  heart  is  light  and  his  pluck   is 
right  — 

The  man  who  carries  the  gun. 


46        A   BALLAD    OF  THE   RANKS 

Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

A  lad  from  the  Emerald  Isle. 
Then  let  him  go,  for  well  we  know. 

We  've  tried  him  many  a  while. 
We  've  tried  him  east,  we  Ve  tried  him 
west. 

We  've  tried  him  sea  and  land. 
But  the  man  to  beat  old  Erin's  best 

Has  never  yet  been  planned. 


Who  carries  the  gun  ? 

It  's  you,  and  you,  and  you ; 
So  let  us  go,  and  we  won't  say  no 

If  they  give  us  a  job  to  do. 
Here  we  stand  with  a  cross-linked  hand. 

Comrades  every  one; 
So  one  last  cup,  and  drink  it  up 

To  the  man  who  carries  the  gun ! 


A   BALLAD   OF   THE   RANKS        47 

For  the  Colonel  rides  before, 
The  Major  's  on  the  flank, 

The  Captains  and  the  Adjutant 
Are  in  the  foremost  rank. 

And  when  it  's  "  Action  front ! " 

And  there  's  fighting  to  be  done. 

Come  one,  come  all,  you  stand  or  fall 
By  the  man  who  holds  the  gun. 


A  LAY   OF   THE  LINKS 

It 's  up  and  away  from  our  work  to-day, 

For  the  breeze  sweeps  over  the  down ; 
And  it  's  hey  for  a  game  where  the  gorse 
blossoms  flame, 
And  the  bracken  is  bronzing  to 
brown. 
With  the  turf  'neath  our  tread  and  the  blue 
overhead, 
And  the  song  of  the  lark  in  the 
whin; 
There  's  the  flag  and  the  green,  with  the 
bunkers  between  — 
Now  will  you  be  over  or  in  ? 
48 


A  LAY   OF   THE   LINKS  49 

The  doctor  may  come,  and  we  '11  teach 
him  to  know 
A  tee  where  no  tannin  can  lurk ; 
The  soldier  may  come,  and  we  '11  promise 
to  show 
Some  hazards  a  soldier  may  shirk ; 
The  statesman  may  joke,  as  he  tops  every 
stroke. 
That  at  last  he   is  high   in  his 
aims; 
And  the  clubman  will  stand  with  a  club 
in  his  hand 
That  is  worth  every  club  in  St. 
James'.  ^^^ 


The  palm  and  the  leather  come  rarely 
together. 
Gripping  the  driver's  haft, 


50  A   LAY   OF   THE   LINKS 

And  it  's  good  to  feel  the  jar  of  the 
steel 
And  the  spring  of  the  hickory  shaft. 
Why  trouble  or  seek  for  the  praise  of  a 
clique  — 
A  cleek  here  is  common  to  all ; 
And  the  lie  that  might  sting  is  a  very 
small  thing 
When  compared  with  the  lie  of  the 
ball. 

Come  youth  and  come  age,  from  the 
study  or  stage,    • 
From  Bar  or  from  Bench  —  high  and 
low! 
A  green  you  must  use  as  a  cure  for  the 
blues  — 
You  drive  them  away  as  you  go. 


A  LAY   OF  THE   LINKS 


51 


We  're  outward  bound  on  a  long,  long 
round. 
And  it  's  time  to  be  up  and  away : 
If  worry  and  sorrow  come  back  with  the 
morrow, 
At  least  we  '11  be  happy  to-day. 


THE  DYING   WHIP 

It  came  from  gettin'  'eated,  that  was  'ow 
the  thing  begun, 

And  'ackin'  back  to  kennels  from  a  ninety- 
minute  run; 

"  I  guess  I  've  copped  brownchitis,"  says 
I  to  brother  Jack, 

An'  then  afore  I  knowed  it  I  was  down 
upon  my  back. 

At  night  there  came  a  sweatin'  as  left  me 

deadly  weak, 
And  my  throat  was  sort  of  tickly  an'  it 

'urt  me  for  to  speak ; 
52 


THE    DYING   WHIP  53 

An'  then  there  came  an  'ackin'  cough  as 

would  n't  leave  alone, 
An'  then  afore  I  knowed  it  I  was  only 

skin  and  bone. 


I  never  was  a  'eavy  weight.     I  scaled  at 

seven  four, 
An'  rode  at  eight,  or  maybe  at  just  a  trifle 

more ; 
And  now  I  '11  stake  my  davy  I  would  n't 

scale  at  five. 
And  I  'd  'old  my  own  at  catch-weights 

with  the  skinniest  jock  alive. 

And  the  doctor  says  the  reason  why  I  sit 
an'  cough  an'  wheeze 

Is  all  along  o'  varmint,  like  the  cheese- 
mites  in  the  cheese ; 


54  THE    DYING   WHIP 

The  smallest  kind  o'  varmint,  but  varmint 

all  the  same, 
Microscopes  or  somethin' —  I  forget  the 

varmint's  name. 


But  I  knows  as  I  'm  a  goner.     They  never 

said  as  much. 
But  I  reads  the  people's  faces,  and  I  knows 

as  I  am  such ; 
Well,  there  's  'Urst  to  mind  the  'orses  and 

the  'ounds  can  look  to  Jack, 
Though  'e  never  was  a  patch  on  me  in 

'andlin'  of  a  pack. 

You  '11  maybe  think  I  'm  boastin',  but 

you  '11  find  they  all  agree 
That  there  's  not  a  whip  in  Surrey  as  can 

'andle  'ounds  like  me ; 


THE   DYING   WHIP  55 

Fo  I  knew  'em  all  from  puppies,  and  I  'd 

tell  'em  without  fail  — 
If  I   seed  a  tail  a-waggin',  I  could  tell 

who  wagged  the  tail. 

And  voices  —  why,   Lor'  love  you,  it's 

more  than  I  can  'elp, 
It  just  comes   kind   of  natural  to  know 

each  whine  an'  yelp ; 
You  might  take  them  twenty  couple  where 

you  will  and  let  'em  run, 
An'  I  'd  listen  by  the  coverside  and  name 

'em  one  by  one. 

I  say  it 's  kind  of  natural,  for  since  I  was 

a  brat 
I  never  cared  for  readin'  books,  or  fancy 

things  like  that; 


S6  THE    DYING   WHIP 

But  give  me  'ounds  and  'orses  an'  I  was 
quite  content, 

An'  I  loved  to  'ear  'em  talkin'  and  to  won- 
der what  they  meant. 

And  when  the  'ydrophoby  came  five  year 

ago  next  May, 
When  Nailer  was  be'avin'  in  a  most  ow- 

dacious  way, 
I  fixed  him  so  's  'e  could  n't  bite,  my 

'ands  on  neck  an'  back, 
An'  I  'eaved  'im  from  the   kennels,   and 

they  say  I  saved  the  pack. 

An'  when  the  Master  'eard  of  it,  'e  up  an' 

says,  says  'e, 
"  If  that  chap  were  a  soldier  man,  they  'd 

give  him  the  V.  C." 


THE   DYING   WHIP  57 

Which  is  some  kind  o'  medal  what  they 

give  to  soldier  men; 
An'  Master  said  if  I  were  such  I  would  'a' 

got  it  then. 


Parson  brought  'is  Bible  and  come  to  read 

to  me; 
"  'Ave  what  you  like,  there  's  everythink 

within  this  Book,"  says  'e. 
Says  I,  "  They  've  left  the  'orses  out ! " 

Says  'e,  "  You  are  mistook  " ; 
An'  'e  up  an'  read  a  'eap  of  things  about 

them  from  the  Book. 

And  some  of  it  amazin'  fine;   although 

I  'm  fit  to  swear 
No  'orse  would  ever  say  "  Ah,  ah  !  "  same 

as  they  said  it  there. 


58  THE    DYING   WHIP 

Per'aps  it  was  an  'Ebrew  'orse  the  chap 

'ad  in  his  mind, 
But   I  never  'eard  an    English   'orse  say 

nothin'  of  the  kind. 


Parson  is  a  good  'un.     I  've  known  'im 

from  a  lad ; 
'T  was    me    as    taught  'im  ridin',  an'  'e 

rides  uncommon  bad ; 
And  he    says But  'ark    an'   listen! 

There  's  an  'orn !     I  'card  it  blow ; 
Pull  the  blind  from  off  the  winder !    Prop 

me  up,  and  'old  me  so. 

They  're  'rawing  the  black  'anger,  just 

aside  the  Squire's  grounds. 
'Ark  and  listen  !  'Ark  and  listen !  There  's 

the  yappin'  of  the  'ounds : 


THE   DYING  WHIP  59 

There  's  Fanny  and  Beltinker,  and  I  'ear 

old  Boxer  call ; 
You  see  I  was  n't  boastin'  when  I  said  I 

knew  'em  all. 


Let  me  sit  an'  'old  the  bed-rail !     Now  I 

see  'em  as  they  pass  : 
There  's  Squire  upon  the  Midland  mare, 

a  good  'un  on  the  grass; 
But  this  is  closish  country,  and  you  wants 

a  clever  'orse 
When  'alf  the  time  you  're  in  the  woods 

an'  'alf  among  the  gorse. 

'Ark  to  Jack  a-'oUering — a-bleatin'  like  a 

lamb. 
You  would  n't  think  it  now,  perhaps,  to 

see  the  thing  I  am ; 


6o  THE   DYING  WHIP 

But  there  was  a  time  the  ladies  used  to 

linger  at  the  meet 
Just  to  'ear  me  callin'  in  the  woods :  my 

callin'  was  so  sweet. 


I  see  the  cross-roads  corner,  with  the  field 

awaitin'  there, 
There  's  Purcell  on  'is  piebald  'orse,  an' 

doctor  on  the  mare. 
And  the  Master  on  'is  iron  gray ;  she  is  n't 

much  to  look. 
But  I  seed  'er  do  clean  twenty  foot  across 

the  'eathly  brook. 

There  's  Captain  Kane  an'  Mclntyre  an' 

'alf  a  dozen  more. 
And   two   or  three  are    'untin'  whom    I 

never  seed   afore ; 


THE   DYING   WHIP  6i 

Likely-lookin'  chaps  they  be,  wellgroomed 

and  'orsed  and  dressed  — 
I  wish  they  could  'a'  seen  the  pack  when 

it  was  at  its  best. 


It  's  a  check,  and  they  are  drawing  down 
the  coppice  for  a  scent, 

You  can  see  as  they  've  been  running  for 
the  'orses  they  are  spent ; 

I  '11  lay  the  fox  will  break  this  way,  down- 
wind as  sure  as  fate. 

An'  if  he  does  you  '11  see  the  field  come 
poundin'  through  our  gate. 

But,  Maggie,  what  's  that  slinkin'  beside 

the  cover  ?  —  See  ! 
Now  it  's  in  the  clover  field,  and  goin' 

fast  an'  free. 


62  THE   DYING  WHIP 

It  's  'im,  and  they  don't  see  'im.     It  's 

'im!     'Alloo!  'Alloo ! 
My  broken  wind  won't  run  to  it  —  I  '11 

leave  the  job  to  you. 

There,  now  I  'ear  the  music,  and  I  know 

they  're  on  his  track ; 
Oh,  watch  'em,  Maggie,  watch  'em  !    Ain't 

they  just  a  lovely  pack  ! 
I  've  nursed  'em  through  distemper,   an' 

I  've  trained  an'  broke  'em  in, 
An'  my 'eart  it  just  goes  out  to  them  as  if 

they  was  my  kin. 

Well,  all   things  'as  an   endin',  as  I  've 

'card  the  parson  say. 
The  'orse  is  cast,  an'  the  'ound  is  past,  an' 

the  'unter  'as  'is  day ; 


THE    DYING   WHIP  6^ 

But    my  day  was   yesterday,  so  lay  me 

down  again. 
You  can  draw  the  curtain,  Maggie,  right 

across  the  window-pane. 


MASTER 

Master  went  a-hunting. 

When  the  leaves  were  falling ; 
We  saw  him  on  the  bridle  path. 
We  heard  him  gaily  calling. 
"  Oh,  master,  master,  come  you  back. 
For  I  have  dreamed  a  dream  so  black ! " 
A  glint  of  steel  from  bit  and  heel. 

The  chestnut  cantered  faster, 
A  red  flash  seen  amid  the  green. 
And  so  good-by  to  master. 

Master  came  from  hunting, 

Two  silent  comrades  bore  him ; 

His  eyes  were  dim,  his  face  was  white, 

The  mare  was  led  before  him. 
64 


MASTER  65 

"  Oh,  master,  master,  is  it  thus 
That  you  have  come  again  to  us  ?  " 
I  held  my  lady's  ice-cold  hand, 

They  bore  the  hurdle  past  her; 
Why  should  they  go  so  soft  and  slow  '? 
It  matters  not  to  master. 


H.  M.  S.  "FOUDROYANT" 

[^Being  an  humble  address  to  Her  Majesty* s  Naval 
advisers,  who  sold  Nelson*  s  old  flagship  to  the  Ger- 
mans for  a  thousand  pounds  J\ 

Who  says  the  Nation's  purse  is  lean, 
Who  fears  for  claim  or  bond  or  debt, 

When  all  the  glories  that  have  been 
Are  scheduled  as  a  cash  asset  ? 

If  times  are  black  and  trade  is  slack. 
If  coal  and  cotton  fail  at  last. 

We  Ve  something  left  to  barter  yet  — 
Our  glorious  past. 

There  's  many  a  crypt  in  which  lies  hid 

The  dust  of  statesman  or  of  king; 
66 


H.  M.  S.  "FOUDROYANT"  67 

There  's  Shakespeare's  home  to  raise  a  bid, 
And   Milton's   house  its    price   would 
bring. 
What  for  the  sword  that  Cromwell  drew  ? 
What  for  Prince  Edward's  coat  of  mail? 
What  for  our  Saxon  Alfred's  tomb  ? 
They  're  all  for  sale ! 

And  stone  and  marble  may  be  sold 

Which  serve  no  present  daily  need ; 
There  's  Edward's  Windsor,  labeled  old, 

And  Wolsey's  palace,  guaranteed. 
St.  Clement  Danes  and  fifty  fanes, 

The  Tower  and  the  Temple  grounds ; 
How  much  for  these  ?     Just  price  them, 
please. 

In  British  pounds. 

You  hucksters,  have  you  still  to  learn 
The  things  which  money  will  not  buy  ? 


68  H.  M.  S.  "FOUDROYANT" 

Can  you  not  read  that,  cold  and  stern 
As  we  may  be,  there  still  does  lie 

Deep  in  our  hearts  a  hungry  love 
For  what  concerns  our  island  story  ? 

We  sell  our  work — perchance  our  lives, 
But  not  our  glory. 

Go  barter  to  the  knacker's  yard 

The  steed  that  has  outlived  its  time ! 
Send  hungry  to  the  pauper  ward 

The  man  who  served  you  in  his  prime ! 
But  when  you  touch  the  Nation's  store. 

Be  broad  your  mind  and  tight  your  grip. 
Take  heed !     And  bring  us  back  once 
more 

Our  Nelson's  ship. 

And  if  no  mooring  can  be  found 
In  all  our  harbors  near  or  far. 


H.  M.  S.  "FOUDROYANT"  69 

Then  tow  the  old  three-decker  round 
To  where  the  deep-sea  soundings  are ; 

There,  with  her  pennon  flying  clear. 
And  with  her  ensign  lashed  peak  high, 

Sink  her  a  thousand  fathoms  sheer. 
There  let  her  lie ! 


THE  FARNSHIRE  CUP 

Christopher  Davis  was  up  upon  Mavis 

And  Sammy  MacGregor  on  Flo, 
Jo  Chauncy  rode  Spider,  the  rankest  out- 
sider. 

But  he  W  make  a  wooden  horse  go. 
There  was  Robin  and  Leah  and  Boadicea, 

And  Chesterfield's  Son  of  the  Sea; 
And  Irish  Nuneaton,  who.  never  was 
beaten, 

They  backed  her  at  seven  to  three. 

The  course  was  the  devil !     A  start  on  the 

level, 

And  then  a  stiff  breather  uphill ; 

A  bank  at  the  top  with  a  four-foot  drop, 

And  a  bullfinch  down  by  the  mill. 
70 


THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP  71 

A  Stretch  of  straight  from  the  Whittlesea 
gate, 
Then  up  and  down  and  up ; 
And  the  mounts  that  stay  through  Farn- 
shire  clay 
May  bid  for  the  Farnshire  Cup. 


The  tipsters  were  touting,  the  bookies 
were  shouting 
"  Bar  one,  bar  one,  bar  one  ! " 
With  a  ghnt  and  a  glimmer  of  silken 
shimmer 
The  field  shone  bright  in  the  sun, 
When  Farmer  Brown  came  riding  down ; 

"  I  hain't  much  time  to  spare. 
But  I  've  entered  her  name,  so  I  '11  play 
out  the  game. 
On  the  back  o'  my  old  gray  mare. 


72  THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP 

"  You  never  would  think  'er  a  thorough- 
bred clinker. 

There  's  never  a  judge  that  would; 
Each  leg  be'ind  'as  a  splint,  you  '11  find. 

And  the  fore  are  none  too  good. 
She  roars  a  bit,  and  she  don't  look  fit. 

She  's  molted  'alf  'er  'air ; 

But "     He  smiled  in  a  way  that 

seemed  to  say 

That  he  knew  that  old  gray  mare. 

And  the  bookies  laughed  and  the  bookies 
chaffed, 
"  Who  backs  the  mare  ?  "  cried  they. 
"  A  hundred  to  one ! "    "  It 's  done  —  and 
done ! " 
"  We  '11  take  that  price  all  day." 
"What  if  the  mare  is  shedding  hair! 
What  if  her  eye  is  wild ! 


THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP  73 

We  read  her  worth  and  her  pedigree  birth 
In  the  smile  that  her  owner  smiled." 

And  the  whisper  grew  and  the  whisper 
flew 

That  she  came  of  Isonomy  stock. 
"  Fifty  to  one ! "    "  It 's  done — and  done ! 

Look  at  her  haunch  and  hock ! 
Ill-groomed !     Why,  yes,  but  one  may 
guess 

That  that  is  her  owner's  guile." 
Ah,  Farmer  Brown,  the  sharps  from  town 

Have  read  your  simple  smile ! 

They  Ve  weighed  him  in.     "  Now  lose  or 
win, 

I  've  money  at  stake  this  day ; 
Gee-long,  my  sweet,  and  if  we  're  beat. 

We  '11  both  do  all  we  may ! " 


74  THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP 

He  joins  the  rest,  they  line  abreast, 
"  Back  Leah !     Mavis  up  !  " 

The  flag  is  dipped  and  the  field  is  slipped, 
Full  split  for  the  Farnshire  Cup. 

Christopher  Davis  is  leading  on  Mavis, 

Spider  is  waiting  on  Flo ; 
Boadicea  is  gaining  on  Leah, 

Irish  Nuneaton  lies  low ; 
Robin  is  tailing,  his  wind  has  been  failing, 

Son  of  the  Sea  's  going  fast : 
So  crack  on  the  pace,  for  it 's  any  one's 
race. 

And  the  winner  's  the  horse  that  can 
last. 


Chestnut  and  bay,  and  sorrel  and  gray. 
See  how  they  glimmer  and  gleam ! 


THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP  75 

Bending  and  straining,  and  losing  and 
gaining, 
Silk  jackets  flutter  and  stream ; 
They  are  over  the  grass  as  the  cloud 
shadows  pass, 
They  are  up  to  the  fence  at  the  top ; 
It 's  "  hey  then ! "  and  over,  and  into  the 
clover. 
There  was  n't  one  slip  at  the  drop. 


They  are  all  going  still :  they  are  round 
by  the  mill. 
They  are  down  by  the  Whittlesea 
gate ; 
Leah  's  complaining,  and  Mavis  is 
gaining, 
And  Flo  's  catching  up  in  the 
straight. 


76  THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP 

Robin 's  gone  wrong,  but  the  Spider  runs 
strong, 

He  sticks  to  the  leader  like  wax ; 
An  utter  outsider,  but  look  at  his  rider  — 

Jo  Chauncy,  the  pick  of  the  cracks  ! 

Robin  was  tailing  and  pecked  at  a  paling, 

Leah  's  gone  weak  in  her  feet ; 
Boadicea  came  down  at  the  railing. 

Son  of  the  Sea  is  dead  beat. 
Leather  to  leather,  they  're  pounding 
together, 

Three  of  them  all  in  a  row ; 
And  Irish  Nuneaton,  who  never  was  beaten. 

Is  level  with  Spider  and  Flo. 

It 's  into  the  straight  from  the  Whittlesea 
gate. 
Clean  galloping  over  the  green. 


THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP  77 

But  four  foot  high  the  hurdles  lie 
With  a  sunken  ditch  between. 

'T  is  a  bit  of  a  test  for  a  beast  at  its  best, 
And  the  devil  and  all  at  its  worst ; 

But  it  's  clear  run  in  with  the  Cup  to  win 
For  the  horse  that  is  over  it  first. 


So  try   it,  my  beauties,    and   fly  it,  my 
beauties, 
Spider,  Nuneaton,  and  Flo ; 
With  a  trip  and  a  blunder  there  's  one 
of  them  under. 
Hark  to  it  crashing  below  ! 
Is  it  the  brown  or  the  sorrel  that 's  down  ? 
It  's  the  brown  I     It  is  Flo  who  is  in ! 
And  Spider  with  Chauncy,  the  pick  of  the 
fancy, 
Is  going  full  split  for  a  win. 


78  THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP 

"Spider  is  winning!"    "Jo  Chauncy  is 
winning ! " 
"  He  's  winning !     He  's  winning  ! 
Bravo!" 
The  bookies  are    raving,  the  ladies   are 
waving, 
The  Stand  is  all  shouting  for  Jo. 
The  horse  is  clean  done,  but  the  race  may 
be  won 
By  the  Newmarket  lad  on  his 
back ; 
For  the  fire  of  the  rider  may  bring  an  out- 
sider 
Ahead  of  a  thoroughbred  crack. 


'  Spider  is  winning  ! "    "  Jo  Chauncy  is 
winning  !  " 
It  swells  like  the  roar  of  the  sea ; 


THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP  79 

But  Jo  hears  the  drumming  of  somebody 
coming. 
And  sees  a  lean  head  by  his  knee. 
"  Nuneaton  I    Nuneaton  !    The  Spider  is 
beaten ! " 
It  is  but  a  spurt  at  the  most ; 
For  lose  it  or  win  it,  they  have  but  a 
minute 
Before  they  are  up  with  the  post. 

Nuneaton  is  straining,  Nuneaton  is  gain- 
ing. 
Neither  will  falter  nor  flinch ; 

Whips  they  are  plying  and  jackets  are 
flying. 
They  're  fairly  abreast  to  an  inch. 
"Crack   'em    up!     Let    'em    go!     Well 
ridden !     Bravo ! " 
Gamer  ones  never  were  bred; 


8o  THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP 

"  Jo  Chauncy  has  done  it !     He 's  spurted ! 
He  's  won  it ! " 
The  favorite  's  beat  by  a  head ! 

Don't  tell  me  of  luck,  for  it  's  judgment 
and  pluck 
And  a  courage  that  never  will  shirk ; 
To  give  your  mind  to  it  and  know  how 
to  do  it 
And  put  all  your  heart  in  your  work. 
'  So  here  's  to  the  Spider,  the  winning  out- 
sider, 
With  little  Jo  Chauncy  up ; 
May  they  stay  life's  course,  both  jockey 
and  horse. 
As  they  stayed  in  the  Farnshire  Cup. 

But  it  's  possible  that  you  are  wondering 
what 
May  have  happened  to  Farmer  Brown, 


THE   FARNSHIRE   CUP  8i 

And  the  old  gray  crock  of  Isonomy  stock 
Who  was  backed  by  the  sharps  from 
town. 
She  blew  and  she  sneezed,  she  coughed 
and  she  wheezed, 
She  ran  till  her  knees  gave  way; 
But  never  a  grumble  at  trip  or  at  stumble 
Was  heard  from  her  jock  that  day. 

For  somebody  laid  against  the  gray. 

And  somebody  made  a  pile ; 
And  Brown  says  he  can  make  farming  pay. 

And  he  smiles  a  simple  smile. 
"  Them  sharps  from  town  were  riled,"  says 
Brown ; 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  —  can  you  ? 
For  I  said  quite  fair  as  I  knew  that  mare. 

And  I  proved  my  words  was  true." 


THE  GROOM'S   STORY 

Ten  mile  in  twenty  minutes !    'E  done  it, 

sir.     That  's  true. 
The  big  bay  'orse  in  the  further  stall  — 

the  one  wot  's  next  to  you. 
I  've  seen  some  better  'orses ;  I  've  seldom 

seen  a  wuss, 
But  'e  'olds  the  bloomin'  record,  an'  that 's 

good  enough  for  us. 

We  knew  as  it  was  in  'im.  'E  's  thorough- 
bred, three  part. 
We  bought  'im  for  to  race  'im,  but  we 

found  'e  'ad  no  'eart ; 
82 


THE   GROOM'S   STORY  83 

For  'e  was  sad  and  thoughtful,  and  amazin' 

dignified, 
It  seemed  a  kind  o'  liberty  to  drive  'im  or 

to  ride ; 


For  'e  never  seemed  a-thinkin'  of  what  'e 

'ad  to  do. 
But  'is  thoughts  was  set  on  'igher  things, 

admirin'  of  the  view. 
'E  looked  a  pufFeck  pictur,  and  a  pictur 

'e  would  stay, 
'E  would  n't  even  switch  'is  tail  to  drive 

the  flies  away. 

And  yet  we  knew  't  was  in  'im ;  we  knew 

as  'e  could  fly ; 
But  what  we  could  n't  git  at  was  'ow  to 

make  'im  try. 


84  THE   GROOM'S  STORY 

We  'd  almost  turned  the  job  up,  until  at 

last  one  day 
We  got  the  last  yard  out  of  'im  in  a  most 

amazin'  way. 

It  was  all  along  o'  master;  which  master 
'as  the  name 

Of  a  reg'lar  true  blue  sportman,  an'  al- 
ways acts  the  same ; 

But  we  all  'as  weaker  moments,  which 
master  'e  'ad  one, 

An'  'e  went  and  bought  a  motor-car  when 
motor-cars  begun. 

I  seed  it  in  the  stable  yard  —  it  fairly 

turned  me  sick  — 
A  greasy,  wheezy  engine  as  can  neither 

buck  or  kick. 


THE   GROOM'S  STORY  85 

You  've  a  screw  to  drive  it  forrard,  and  a 

screw  to  make  it  stop, 
For  it  was  foaled  in  a  smithy  stove  an' 

bred  in  a  blacksmith  shop. 

It  did  n't  want  no  stable,  it  didn't  ask  no 

groom. 
It  did  n't  need  no  nothin'  but  a  bit  o' 

standin'  room. 
Just  fill  it  up  with  paraffin  an'  it  would  go 

all  day, 
Which  the  same  should  be  agin  the  law 

if  I  could  'ave  my  way. 

Well,  master  took  'is  motor-car,  an'  moted 

'ere  an'  there, 
A  frightenin'  the  'orses  an'  a  poisonin'  the 

air. 


86  THE   GROOM'S   STORY 

'E  wore  a  bloomin'  yachtin'  cap,  but  Lor' ! 

wot  did  'e  know, 
Excep'  that  if  you  turn  a  screw  the  thing 

would  stop  or  go  ? 

An'  then  one  day  it  would  n't  go.     'E 

screwed  and  screwed  again. 
But  somethin'  jammed,  an'  there  'e  stuck 

in  the  mud  of  a  country  lane. 
It  'urt  'is  pride  most  cruel,  but  what  was 

'e  to  do? 
So  at  last  'e  bade  me  fetch  a  'orse  to  pull 

the  motor  through. 

This  was  the  'orse   we  fetched  'im ;  an' 

when  we  reached  the  car. 
We  braced  'im  tight  and  proper  to  the 

middle  of  the  bar, 


THE   GROOM'S   STORY  87 

And  buckled  up  'is  traces  and  lashed  them 

to  each  side. 
While  'e   'eld   'is  'ead  so  'aughtily,  an' 

looked  most  dignified. 

Not  bad  tempered,  mind  you,  but  kind 
of  pained  and  vexed, 

And  'e  seemed  to  say,  "  Well,  bli'  me ! 
wot  will  they  ask  me  next  ? 

I  've  put  up  with  some  liberties,  but  this 
caps  all  by  far. 

To  be  assistant  engine  to  a  crocky  motor- 
car ! " 


Well,  master  'e  was  in  the  car,  a-fiddlin' 

with  the  gear. 
And  the  'orse  was  meditatin',  an'  I   was 

standin'  near, 


88  THE   GROOM'S  STORY 

When  master  'e  touched  somethin' — 
what  it  was  we'll  never  know  — 

But  it  sort  o'  spurred  the  boiler  up  and 
made  the  engine  go. 

"  'Old  'ard,  old  gal ! "  says  master,  and 

"  Gently  then  ! "  says  I, 
But  an  engine  won't  'eed  coaxin'  an'  it 

ain't  no  use  to  try; 
So  first  'e  pulled  a  lever,  an'  then  'e  turned 

a  screw, 
But  the  thing  kept  crawlin'  forrard  spite 

of  all  that  'e  could  do. 


And  first  he  went  quite  slowly  and  the 

'orse  went  also  slow, 
But  'e  'ad  to  buck  up  faster  when  the 

wheels  began  to  go ; 


THE   GROOM'S   STORY  89 

For  the  car  kept  crowdin'  on  'im  and  but- 
tin'  'im  along, 

And  in  less  than  'alf  a  minute,  sir,  that 
'orse  was  goin'  strong. 

At  first  'e  walked  quite  dignified,  an'  then 
'e  'ad  to  trot. 

And  then  'e  tried  a  canter  when  the  pace 
became  too  'ot. 

'E  looked  'is  very  'aughtiest,  as  if 'e  did  n't 
mind. 

And  all  the  time  the  motor-car  was  push- 
in'  'im  be'ind. 


Now,  master  lost  'is  'ead  when  'e  found  'e 

could  n't  stop, 
And  'e  pulled  a  valve  or  somethin'  an' 

somethin'  else  went  pop. 


90  THE   GROOM'S   STORY 

An'  somethin'  else  went  fizzywiz,  and  in 

a  flash,  or  less, 
That  blessed  car  was  goin'  like  a  limited 

express. 

Master  'eld  the  steerin'  gear,  an'  kept  the 

road  all  right. 
And  away  they  whizzed  and  clattered  — 

my  aunt !  it  was  a  sight. 
'E  seemed  the  finest  draught  'orse  as  ever 

lived  by  far. 
For  all  the  country  Juggins  thought 't  was 

'im  wot  pulled  the  car. 

'E  was  stretchin'  like  a  gray'ound,  'e  was 

goin'  all  'e  knew ; 
But  it  bumped  an'  shoved  be'ind  'im,  for 

all  that  'e  could  do; 


THE   GROOM'S  STORY  91 

It  butted  'im  an'  boosted  'im  an'  spanked 

'im  on  a'ead, 
Till  'e  broke  the  ten-mile  record,  same  as 

I  already  said. 

Ten  mile  in  twenty  minutes !  'E  done  it, 

sir.     That 's  true. 
The  only  time  we  ever  found  what  that 

'ere  'orse  could  do. 
Some  say  it  was  n't  'ardly  fair,  and  the 

papers  made  a  fuss, 
But  'e  broke  the  ten-mile  record,  and 

that 's  good  enough  for  us. 

You  see  that  'orse's  tail,  sir  ?    You  don't ! 

No  more  do  we. 
Which  really  ain't  surprisin',  for  'e  'as  no 

tail  to  see ; 


92  THE   GROOM'S  STORY 

That  engine  wore  it  off  'im  before  master 

made  it  stop, 
And  all  the  road  was  littered  like  a 

bloomin'  barber's  shop. 

And  master  ?     Well,  it  cured  'im.     'E 

altered  from  that  day, 
And  come  back  to  'is  'orses  in  the  good 

old-fashioned  way. 
And  if  you  wants  to  git  the  sack,  the 

quickest  way  by  far 
Is  to  'int  as  'ow  you  think  'e  ought  to 

keep  a  motor-car. 


WITH  THE  CHIDDINGFOLDS 

The  horse  is  bedded  down 

Where  the  straw  lies  deep. 
The  hound  is  in  the  kennel ; 
Let  the  poor  hound  sleep ! 
And  the  fox  is  in  the  spinney 

By  the  run  which  he  is  haunting, 
And  I  '11  lay  an  even  guinea 
That  a  goose  or  two  is  wanting 
When  the  farmer  comes  to  count  them  in 
the  morning. 

The  horse  is  up  and  saddled ; 

Girth  the  old  horse  tight ! 
The  hounds  are  out  and  drawing 

In  the  morning  light. 
93 


94 


WITH  THE   CHIDDINGFOLDS 


Now  it 's  "  Yoick ! "  among  the  heather, 
And  it 's  "  Yoick ! "  across  the  clover, 
And  it  's  "  To  him,  altogether ! " 
"  Hyke  a  Bertha !  Hyke  a  Rover ! " 
And  the  woodlands  smell  so  sweetly  in 
the  morning. 

"  There  's  Termagant  a-whimper- 

She  whimpers  so." 
"  There 's  a  young  hound  yapping ! " 
Let  the  young  hound  go ! 
But  the  old  hound  is  cunning, 

And  it  's  him  we  mean  to  follow, 
"  They  are  running !    They  are  run- 
ning ! " 
And  it 's  "  Forrard  to  the  hollo  ! " 
For  the  scent  is  lying  strongly  in  the 
morning. 


WITH   THE   CHIDDINGFOLDS       95 

"  Who  's  the  fool  that  heads  him  ?  " 

Hold  hard,  and  let  him  pass ! 
He  's  out  among  the  oziers, 
He  's  clear  upon  the  grass. 
You  grip  his  flanks  and  settle, 
For  the  horse  is  stretched  and 
straining, 
Here  's  a  game  to  test  your  mettle. 
And  a  sport  to  try  your  training. 
When  the  Chiddingfolds  are  running  in 
the  morning. 

We  're  up  by  the  Coppice 

And  we  're  down  by  the  Mill, 

We  're  out  upon  the  Common, 
And  the  hounds  are  running  still. 
You  must  tighten  on  the  leather, 

For  we  blunder  through  the 
bracken ; 


g6       WITH   THE   CHIDDINGFOLDS 

Though  you  're  over  hocks  in  heather 
Still  the  pace  must  never  slacken 
As  we  race  through  Thursley  Common  in 
the  morning. 

We  are  breaking  from  the  tangle, 

We  are  out  upon  the  green, 
There  's  a  bank  and  a  hurdle 
With  a  quickset  between. 
You  must  steady  him  and  try  it. 
You  are  over  with  a  scramble. 
Here  's  a  wattle  !     You  must  fly  it, 
And  you  land  among  the  bramble, 
For  it  's  roughish,  toughish  going  in  the 
morning. 

'Ware  the  bog  by  the  Grove 
As  you  pound  through  the  slush. 

See  the  whip  !    See  the  huntsman  I 
We  are  close  upon  his  brush. 


WITH   THE   CHIDDINGFOLDS       97 

'Ware  the  root  that  lies  before  you ! 

It  will  trip  you  if  you  blunder. 
'Ware  the  branch  that  's  drooping 
o'er  you ! 
You  must  dip  and  swerve  from 
under 
As  you  gallop  through  the  woodland  in 
the  morning 

There  were  fifty  at  the  find, 

There  were  forty  at  the  mill, 
There  were  twenty  on  the  heath, 
And  ten  are  going  still. 
Some  are  pounded,  some  are  shirking. 

And  they  dwindle  and  diminish 
Till  a  weary  pair  are  working, 
Spent  and  blowing,  to  the  finish. 
And  we  hear  the  shrill  whoo-ooping  in  the 
morning. 


98       WITH   THE   CHIDDINGFOLDS 

The  horse  is  bedded  down 

Where  the  straw  lies  deep. 
The  hound  is  in  the  kennel. 
He  is  yapping  in  his  sleep. 
But  the  fox  is  in  the  spinney- 
Lying  snug  in  earth  and  burrow. 
And  I  '11  lay  an  even  guinea 

We  could  find  again  to-morrow, 
If  we  chose  to  go  a-hunting  in  the  morjiing. 


A  HUNTING  MORNING 

Put  the  saddle  on  the  mare, 
For  the  wet  winds  blow ; 

There  's  winter  in  the  air, 
And  autumn  all  below. 

For  the  red  leaves  are  flying 

And  the  red  bracken  dying. 

And  the  red  fox  lying 

Where  the  oziers  grow. 

Put  the  bridle  on  the  mare, 
For  my  blood  runs  chill; 

And  my  heart,  it  is  there, 

On  the  heather-tufted  hill, 
99 


loo  A   HUNTING   MORNING 

With  the  gray  skies  o'er  us, 
And  the  long-drawn  chorus 
Of  a  running  pack  before  us 
From  the  find  to  the  kill. 

Then  lead  round  the  mare, 

For  it  's  time  that  we  began. 
And  away  with  thought  and  care, 

Save  to  live  and  be  a  man, 
While  the  keen  air  is  blowing. 
And  the  huntsman  holloing. 
And  the  black  mare  going 
As  the  black  mare  can. 


THE  OLD  GRAY   FOX 

We  started  from  the  Valley  Pride, 

And  Farnham  way  we  went. 
We  waited  at  the  cover-side, 

But  never  found  a  scent. 
Then  we  tried  the  withy  beds 

Which  grow  by  Frensham  town, 
And  there  we  found  the  old  gray  fox, 
The  same  old  fox. 
The  game  old  fox; 
Yes,  there  we  found  the  old  gray  fox. 
Which  lives  on  Hankley  Down. 
So  here  's  to  the  master, 
And  here  's  to  the  man ! 
And  here  's  to  twenty  couple 
Of  the  white  and  black  and  tan  ! 


I02  THE   OLD    GRAY   FOX 

Here  's  a  find  without  a  wait ! 
Here  's  a  hedge  without  a  gate ! 
Here 's  the  man  who  follows  straight, 
Where  the  old  fox  ran. 

The  Member  rode  his  thoroughbred, 

Doctor  had  the  gray. 
The  Soldier  led  on  a  roan  red. 

The  Sailor  rode  the  bay. 
Squire  was  there  on  his  Irish  mare. 

And  Parson  on  the  brown ; 
And  so  we  chased  the  old  gray  fox. 
The  same  old  fox. 
The  game  old  fox; 
And  so  we  chased  the  old  gray  fox 
Across  the  Hankley  Down. 

So  here  's  to  the  master. 

And  here  's  to  the  man ! 

&c.         &c.         &c. 


THE   OLD   GRAY   FOX  103 

The  Doctor's  gray  was  going  strong 

Until  she  slipped  and  fell ; 
He  had  to  keep  his  bed  so  long 

His  patients  all  got  well. 
The  Member  he  had  lost  his  seat, 

'T  was  carried  by  his  horse ; 
And  so  we  chased  the  old  gray  fox, 
The  same  old  fox. 
The  game  old  fox ; 
And  so  we  chased  the  old  gray  fox 
That  earthed  in  Hankley  Gorse. 
So  here  's  to  the  master. 
And  here  's  to  the  man ! 
&c.         &c.         &c. 

The  Parson  sadly  fell  away. 

And  in  the  furze  did  lie ; 
The  words  we  heard  that  Parson  say 

Made  all  the  horses  shy ! 


I04  THE   OLD   GRAY   FOX 

The  Sailor  he  was  seen  no  more 

Upon  that  stormy  bay ; 
But  still  we  chased  the  old  gray  fox. 
The  same  old  fox, 
The  game  old  fox; 
Still  we  chased  the  old  gray  fox 
Through  all  the  winter  day. 

So  here  's  to  the  master, 

And  here  's  to  the  man ! 

&c.         &c.         &c. 


And  when  we  found  him  gone  to  ground, 
They  sent  for  spade  and  man ; 

But  Squire  said  "  Shame !    The  beast  was 
game! 
A  gamer  never  ran  ! " 

His  wind  and  pace  have  gained  the  race, 
His  life  is  fairly  won. 


THE    OLD   GRAY   FOX  105 

But  may  we  meet  the  old  gray  fox. 
The  same  old  fox, 
The  game  old  fox; 
May  we  meet  the  old  gray  fox 
Before  the  year  is  done. 

So  here  's  to  the  master. 
And  here  's  to  the  man ! 
And  here  's  to  twenty  couple 
Of  the  white  and  black  and  tan ! 
Here  's  a  find  without  a  wait ! 
Here  's  a  hedge  without  a  gate ! 
Here 's  the  man  who  follows  straight, 
Where  the  old  fox  ran. 


'WARE  HOLES 

[^PTare  Holes  !  is  the  expression  used  in  the  hunting- 
field  to  warn  those  behind  against  rabbit-burrows  or 
other  such  danger sJ\ 

A  sportin'  death !     My  word  it  was ! 

An'  taken  in  a  sportin'  way. 
Mind  you,  I  was  n't  there  to  see ; 

I  only  tell  you  what  they  say. 

They  found  that  day  at  Shillinglee, 

An'  ran  'im  down  to  Chillinghurst ; 

The  fox  was  goin'  straight  an'  free 

For  ninety  minutes  at  a  burst. 
io6 


'WARE   HOLES  107 

They  'ad  a  check  at  Ebernoe 

An'  made  a  cast  across  the  Down, 

Until  they  got  a  view  'olio 

An'  chased  'im  up  to  Kirdford  town. 

From  Kirdford  'e  run  Bramber  way, 
An'  took  'em  over  'arf  the  Weald. 

If  you  'ave  tried  the  Sussex  clay, 
You  '11  guess  it  weeded  out  the  field. 

Until  at  last  I  don't  suppose 
As  'arf  a  dozen,  at  the  most. 

Came  safe  to  where  the  grassland  goes 
Switchbackin' southwards  to  the  coast. 

Young  Captain  'Eadley,  'e  was  there. 
And  Jim  the  whip  an'  Percy  Day ; 

The  Purcells  an'  Sir  Charles  Adair, 
An'  this  'ere  gent  from  London  way. 


io8  'WARE    HOLES 

For  'e  'ad  gone  amazin'  fine, 

Two  'undred  pounds  between  'is 
knees; 

Eight  stone  he  was,  an'  rode  at  nine. 
As  light  an'  limber  as  you  please. 

'E  was  a  stranger  to  the  'Unt, 

There  were  n't  a  person  as  'e  knew 
there ; 

But  'e  could  ride,  that  London  gent — 
'E  sat  'is  mare  as  if  'e  grew  there. 

They  seed  the  'ounds  upon  the  scent. 
But  found  a  fence  across  their  track, 

And  'ad  to  fly  it ;  else  it  meant 
A  turnin'  and  a  'arkin'  back. 

'E  was  the  foremost  at  the  fence. 
And  as  'is  mare  just  cleared  the  rail 


'WARE   HOLES  109 

He  turned  to  them  that  rode  be'ind, 
For  three  was  at  'is  very  tail. 

"  'Ware'oles!"  says  'e,  an' with  the  word, 
Still  sittin'  easy  on  his  mare, 

Down,  down  'e  went,  an'  down  an'  down. 
Into  the  quarry  yawnin'  there. 

Some  say  it  was  two  'undred  foot; 

The  bottom  lay  as  black  as  ink. 
I  guess  they  'ad  some  ugly  dreams, 

Who  reined  their  'orses  on  the  brink. 

'E  'd  only  time  for  that  one  cry ; 

"  'Ware  'oles ! "  says  'e,  an'  saves  all 
three. 
There  may  be  better  deaths  to  die. 

But  that  one  's  good  enough  for  me. 


no  'WARE   HOLES 

For  mind  you,  't  was  a  sportin'  end. 
Upon  a  right  good  sportin'  day ; 

They  think  a  deal  of  'im  down  'ere, 
That  gent  what  came  from  London 
way. 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF   THE 
"EURYDICE" 

[^Lost,  with  her  crew  of  three  hundred  boys,  on  the  last 
day  of  her  voyage,  March  23,  1876.  She  foun- 
dered off  Portsmouth,  from  which  town  many  of  the 
boys  came,'] 

Up  with  the  royals  that  top  the  white 
spread  of  her ! 
Press  her  and  dress  her,  and  drive 
through  the  foam ; 
The  Island  's  to  port,  and  the  mainland 
ahead  of  her, 
Hey  for  the  Warner  and  Hayling  and 
Home ! 

"  Bo'sun,  O  Bo'sun,  just  look  at  the  green 

of  it! 

Look  at  the  red  cattle  down  by  the  hedge! 
Ill 


112    HOME-COMING  OF  "EURYDICE" 

Look  at  the  farmsteading  —  all  that  is 
seen  of  it, 
One  little  gable  end  over  the  edge  ! " 

"  Lord !  the  tongues  of  them  clattering, 
clattering, 
All  growing  wild  at  a  peep  of  the 
Wight ; 
Aye,  sir,  aye,  it  has  set  them  all  chattering. 
Thinking  of  home  and  their  mothers 
to-night." 

Spread  the  topgallants  —  oh,  lay  them  out 
lustily ! 
What  though  it  darken  o'er  Netherby 
Combe  ? 
'T  is  but  the  valley  wind,  pufBng  so 
gustily  — 
On  for  the  Warner  and  Hayling  and 
Home! 


HOME-COMING  OF  "EURYDICE"    113 

"  Bo'sun,  O  Bo'sun,  just  see  the  long  slope 
of  it! 
Culver  is  there,  with  the  cliff  and  the 
light. 
Tell  us,  oh  tell  us,  now  is  there  a  hope  of  it? 
Shall  we  have  leave  for  our  homes  for 
to-night  ?  " 

"  Tut,  the  clack  of  them !     Steadily ! 
Steadily ! 
Aye,  as  you  say,  sir,  they  're  little  ones 
still ; 
One  long  reach  should  open  it  readily. 
Round  by  St.  Helen's  and  under  the  hill. 

"  The  Spit  and  the  Nab  are  the  gates  of 
the  promise. 
Their  mothers  to  them  —  and  to  us  it 's 
our  wives. 


114    HOME-COMING  OF  "EURYDICE" 

I've  sailed  forty  years,  and — By  God,  it's 
upon  us! 
Down  royals,  down  tops'ls,  down, 
down  for  your  lives !  " 

A  gray  swirl  of  snow  with  the  squall  at 
the  back  of  it. 
Heeling  her,  reeling  her,  beating  her 
down! 
A  gleam  of  her  bends  in  the  thick  of  the 
wrack  of  it, 
A  flutter  of  white  in  the  eddies  of 
brown. 


It  broke  in  one  moment  of  blizzard  and 
blindness ; 
The  next,  like  a  foul  bat,  it  flapped  on 
its  way. 


HOME-COMING  OF  "EURYDICE"    115 

But  our  ship  and  our  boys!     Gracious 
Lord,  in  your  kindness. 
Give  help  to  the  mothers  who  need  it 
to-day ! 

Give  help  to  the  women  who  wait  by  the 
water. 
Who  stand  on  the  Hard  with  their  eyes 
past  the  Wight. 
Ah !  whisper  it  gently,  you  sister  or 
daughter, 
"  Our  boys  are  all  gathered  at  home  for 
to-night." 


THE   INNER  ROOM 

It  is  mine — the  little  chamber, 

Mine  alone. 
I  had  it  from  my  forebears 

Years  agone. 
Yet  within  its  walls  I  see 
A  most  motley  company, 
And  they  one  and  all  claim  me 

As  their  own. 

There  's  one  who  is  a  soldier 

Bluff  and  keen ; 

Single-minded,  heavy-fisted, 

Rude  of  mien. 
ii6 


THE   INNER   ROOM  117 

He  would  gain  a  purse  or  stake  it, 
He  would  win  a  heart  or  break  it, 
He  would  give  a  life  or  take  it. 
Conscience-clean. 


And  near  him  is  a  priest 

Still  schism-whole ; 
He  loves  the  censer-reek 

And  organ-roll. 
He  has  leanings  to  the  mystic, 
Sacramental,  eucharistic ; 
And  dim  yearnings  altruistic 

Thrill  his  soul. 

There  's  another  who  with  doubts 

Is  overcast; 
I  think  him  younger  brother 

To  the  last. 


ii8  THE   INNER   ROOM 

Walking  wary  stride  by  stride. 
Peering  forwards  anxious-eyed. 
Since  he  learned  to  doubt  his  guide 
In  the  past. 

And  'mid  them  all,  alert, 

But  somewhat  cowed. 
There  sits  a  stark-faced  fellow. 

Beetle-browed, 
Whose  black  soul  shrinks  away 
From  a  lawyer-ridden  day. 
And  has  thoughts  he  dare  not  say 
Half  avowed. 


There  are  others  who  are  sitting. 

Grim  as  doom, 
In  the  dim  ill-boding  shadow 

Of  my  room. 


THE   INNER   ROOM  119 

Darkling  figures,  stern  or  quaint, 
Now  a  savage,  now  a  saint, 
Showing  fitfully  and  faint 
Through  the  gloom. 


And  those  shadows  are  so  dense. 

There  may  be 
Many  —  very  many  —  more 

Than  I  see. 
They  are  sitting  day  and  night. 
Soldier,  rogue,  and  anchorite  ; 
And  they  wrangle  and  they  fight 

Over  me. 

If  the  stark-faced  fellow  win, 

All  is  o'er ! 
If  the  priest  should  gain  his  will, 

I  doubt  no  more ! 


I20  THE   INNER  ROOM 

But  if  each  shall  have  his  day, 
I  shall  swing  and  I  shall  sway 
In  the  same  old  weary  way 
As  before. 


THE  IRISH  COLONEL 

Said  the  king  to  the  colonel, 
"  The  complaints  are  eternal, 

That  you  Irish  give  more  trouble 
Than  any  other  corps." 

Said  the  colonel  to  the  king, 
"  This  complaint  is  no  new  thing. 
For  your  foemen,  sire,  have  made  it 
A  hundred  times  before." 


121 


THE  BLIND  ARCHER 

Little  boy  Love  drew  his  bow  at  a  chance. 

Shooting  down  at  the  ballroom  floor ; 
He  hit  an  old  chaperon  watching  the 
dance, 
And  oh  !  but  he  wounded  her  sore. 
"  Hey,  Love,  you  could  n't  mean 

that! 
Hi,  Love,  what  would  you  be  at  ?  " 
No  word  would  he  say. 
But  he  flew  on  his  way, 
For  the  little  boy 's  busy,  and  how  could 
he  stay? 

Little  boy  Love  drew  a  shaft  just  for  sport 
At  the  soberest  club  in  Pall  Mall ; 

122 


THE   BLIND   ARCHER  123 

He  winged  an  old  veteran  drinking  his  port, 
And  down  that  old  veteran  fell. 

"  Hey,  Love,  you  must  n't  do  that ! 
Hi,  Love,  what  would  you  be  at  ? 
This  cannot  be  right ! 
It  's  ludicrous  quite  !  " 
But  it 's  no  use  to  argue,  for  Love  's  out  of 
sight. 

A  sad-faced  young  clerk  in  a  cell  all  apart 

Was  planning  a  celibate  vow ; 
But  the  boy's  random  arrow  has  sunk  in 
his  heart, 
And  the  cell  is  an  empty  one  now. 
"  Hey,  Love,  you  must  n't  do  that ! 
Hi,  Love,  what  would  you  be  at? 
He  is  not  for  you. 
He  has  duties  to  do." 
"But  lam  his  duty,"  quoth  Love  as  he  flew. 


124  THE   BLIND   ARCHER 

The  king  sought  a  bride,  and  the  nation 
had  hoped 
For  a  queen  without  rival  or  peer. 
But  the  little  boy  shot,  and  the  king  has 
eloped 
With  Miss  No-one  on  nothing  a  year. 
"  Hey,  love,  you  could  n't  mean  that ! 
Hi,  Love,  what  would  you  be  at? 
What  an  impudent  thing 
To  make  game  of  a  king ! " 
"  But  Pm  a  king  also,"  cried  Love  on  the 
wing. 

Little  boy  Love  grew  pettish  one  day; 
"  If  you  keep  on  complaining,"  he 
swore, 
"  I  '11  pack  both  my  bow  and  my  quiver 
away. 
And  so  I  shall  plague  you  no  more." 


THE   BLIND   ARCHER  125 

"  Hey,  Love,  you  must  n't  do  that ! 
Hi,  Love,  what  would  you  be  at  ? 
You  may  ruin  our  ease, 
You  may  do  what  you  please, 
But  we  can't  do  without  you,  you  sweet 
little  tease  ! " 


A   PARABLE 

The  cheese-mites  asked  how  the  cheese 
got  there, 
And  warmly  debated  the  matter; 
The  Orthodox  said  that  it  came  from  the 
air. 
And  the  heretics  said  from  the  platter. 
They  argued  it  long  and  they  argued  it 
strong. 
And  I  hear  they  are  arguing  now ; 
But  of  all  the  choice  spirits  who  lived  in 
the  cheese. 
Not  one  of  them  thought  of  a  cow. 


126 


A  TRAGEDY 

Who  's  that  walking  on  the  moorland? 

Who  's  that  moving  on  the  hill  ? 
They  are  passing  'mid  the  bracken. 
But  the  shadows  grow  and  blacken, 

And  I  cannot  see  them  clearly  on 
the  hill. 

Who  's  that  calling  on  the  moorland  ? 

Who  's  that  crying  on  the  hill  ? 

Was  it  bird  or  was  it  human. 

Was  it  child,  or  man,  or  woman. 

Who  was  calling  so  sadly  on  the  hill  ? 
127 


128  A  TRAGEDY 

Who  's  that  running  on  the  moorland? 

Who  's  that  flying  on  the  hill  ? 
He  is  there  —  and  there  again. 
But  you  cannot  see  him  plain, 

For  the  shadow  lies  so  darkly  on  the 
hill. 

What  's  that  lying  in  the  heather  ? 

What  's  that  lurking  on  the  hill  ? 
My  horse  will  go  no  nearer, 
And  I  cannot  see  it  clearer. 

But  there  's  something  that  is  lying 
on  the  hill. 


THE  PASSING 

It  was  the  hour  of  dawn, 

When  the  heart  beats  thin  and  small, 
The  window  glimmered  gray. 
Framed  in  a  shadow  wall. 

And  in  the  cold  sad  light 

Of  the  early  morningtide. 
The  dear,  dead  girl  came  back 

And  stood  by  his  bedside. 

The  girl  he  lost  came  back ; 

He  saw  her  flowing  hair ; 

It  flickered  and  it  waved 

Like  a  breath  in  frosty  air. 
129 


I30  THE   PASSING 

As  in  a  steamy  glass. 

Her  face  was  dim  and  blurred ; 
Her  voice  was  sweet  and  thin, 

Like  the  calling  of  a  bird. 

"  You  said  that  you  would  come, 
You  promised  not  to  stay; 

And  I  have  waited  here, 

To  help  you  on  the  way. 

"  I  have  waited  on, 

But  still  you  bide  below  ; 
You  said  that  you  would  come. 

And  oh,  I  want  you  so ! 

"  For  half  my  soul  is  here. 

And  half  my  soul  is  there. 

When  you  are  on  the  earth 
And  I  am  in  the  ain 


THE   PASSING  131 

"  But  on  your  dressing-stand 

There  lies  a  triple  key ; 
Unlock  the  little  gate 

Which  fences  you  from  me. 

"  Just  one  little  pang, 

Just  one  throb  of  pain, 
And  then  your  weary  head 

Between  my  breasts  again." 

In  the  dim  unhomely  light 
Of  the  early  morningtide. 

He  took  the  triple  key 

And  he  laid  it  by  his  side. 

A  pistol,  silver  chased, 

An  open  hunting-knife, 
A  phial  of  the  drug 

Which  cures  the  ill  of  life. 


132  THE   PASSING 

He  looked  upon  the  three, 

And  sharply  drew  his  breath : 

"  Now  help  me,  oh  my  love. 

For  I  fear  this  cold  gray  death." 

She  bent  her  face  above, 

She  kissed  him  and  she  smiled ; 
She  soothed  him  as  a  mother 

May  soothe  a  frightened  child. 

"  Just  that  little  pang,  love. 

Just  a  throb  of  pain. 
And  then  your  weary  head 

Between  my  breasts  again." 

He  snatched  the  pistol  up. 
He  pressed  it  to  his  ear ; 

But  a  sudden  sound  broke  in. 

And  his  skin  was  raw  with  fear. 


THE   PASSING  133 

He  took  the  hunting-knife. 

He  tried  to  raise  the  blade ; 

It  glimmered  cold  and  white, 
And  he  was  sore  afraid. 

He  poured  the  potion  out. 

But  it  was  thick  and  brown ; 

His  throat  was  sealed  against  it, 

And  he  could  not  drain  it  down. 

He  looked  to  her  for  help. 

And  when  he  looked — behold! 
His  love  was  there  before  him 

As  in  the  days  of  old. 

He  saw  the  drooping  head. 

He  saw  the  gentle  eyes ; 
He  saw  the  same  shy  grace  of  hers 

He  had  been  wont  to  prize. 


134  THE   PASSING 

She  pointed  and  she  smiled, 
And  lo !  he  was  aware 

Of  a  half-lit  bedroom  chamber 
And  a  silent  figure  there. 

A  silent  figure  lying, 

A-sprawl  upon  a  bed ; 

With  a  silver-mounted  pistol 
Still  clotted  to  his  head. 

And  as  he  downward  gazed. 

Her  voice  came  full  and  clear, 

The  homely  tender  voice 

Which  he  had  loved  to  hear : 

"  The  key  is  very  certain. 

The  door  is  sealed  to  none. 

You  did  it,  oh,  my  darling! 

And  you  never  knew  it  done. 


THE   PASSING  135 

"  When  the  net  was  broken. 

You  thought  you  felt  its  mesh ; 

You  carried  to  the  spirit 

The  troubles  of  the  flesh. 

"  And  are  you  trembling  still,  dear  ? 

Then  let  me  take  your  hand ; 
And  I  will  lead  you  outward 

To  a  sweet  and  restful  land. 

"  You  know  how  once  in  London 

I  put  my  griefs  on  you ; 
But  I  can  carry  yours  now  — 

Most  sweet  it  is  to  do ! 

"  Most  sweet  it  is  to  do,  love, 

And  very  sweet  to  plan 
How  I,  the  helpless  woman. 

Can  help  the  helpful  man. 


136  THE   PASSING 

"  But  let  me  see  you  smiling 

With  the  smile  I  know  so  well; 

Forget  the  world  of  shadows, 

And  the  empty  broken  shell. 

"  It  is  the  worn-out  garment 
In  which  you  tore  a  rent ; 

You  tossed  it  down,  and  carelessly 
Upon  your  way  you  went. 

"  It  is  not  you^  my  sweetheart. 
For  you  are  here  with  me. 

That  frame  was  but  the  promise  of 
The  thing  that  was  to  be — 

"  A  tuning  of  the  choir 

Ere  the  harmonies  begin ; 

And  yet  it  is  the  image 

Of  the  subtle  thing  within. 


THE   PASSING  137 

"  There  's  not  a  trick  of  body, 
There  's  not  a  trait  of  mind, 

But  you  bring  it  over  with  you, 
Ethereal,  refined, 

*  But  still  the  same ;  for  surely 

If  we  altered  as  we  die, 
You  would  be  you  no  longer. 

And  I  would  not  be  I. 

"  I  might  be  an  angel, 

But  not  the  girl  you  knew ; 
You  might  be  immaculate. 

But  that  would  not  be  you. 

"  And  now  I  see  you  smiling. 
So,  darling,  take  my  hand ; 

And  I  will  lead  you  outward 

To  a  sweet  and  pleasant  land. 


138  THE   PASSING 

"  Where  thought  is  clear  and  nimble. 
Where  life  is  pure  and  fresh, 

Where  the  soul  comes  back  rejoicing 
From  the  mud-bath  of  the  flesh. 

"  But  still  the  soul  is  human, 
With  human  ways,  and  so 

I  love  my  love  in  spirit, 

As  I  loved  him  long  ago." 

So  with  hands  together 

And  fingers  twining  tight, 

The  two  dead  lovers  drifted 

In  the  golden  morning  light. 

But  a  gray-haired  man  was  lying 
Beneath  them  on  a  bed. 

With  a  silver-mounted  pistol 
Still  clotted  to  his  head. 


THE  FRANKLIN  S  MAID 

The  franklin  he  hath  gone  to  roam, 
The  franklin's  maid  she  bides  at  home ; 
But  she  is  cold,  and  coy,  and  staid, 
And  who  may  win  the  franklin's  maid  ? 

There  came  a  knight  of  high  renown 
In  bassinet  and  ciclatoun ; 
On  bended  knee  full  long  he  prayed  — 
He  might  not  win  the  franklin's  maid. 

There  came  a  squire  so  debonair. 
His  dress  was  rich,  his  words  were  fair. 
He  sweetly  sang,  he  deftly  played  — 
He  could  not  win  the  franklin's  maid. 
139 


I40  THE   FRANKLIN'S   MAID 

There  came  a  mercer  wonder-fine. 
With  velvet  cap  and  gaberdine ; 
For  all  his  ships,  for  all  his  trade. 
He  could  not  buy  the  franklin's  maid. 

There  came  an  archer  bold  and  true. 
With  bracer  guard  and  stave  of  yew ; 
His  purse  was  light,  his  jerkin  frayed  — 
Haro,  alas  !  the  franklin's  maid ! 

Oh,  some  have  laughed   and  some  have 

cried, 
And  some  have  scoured  the  countryside ; 
But  off  they  ride  through  wood  and  glade. 
The  bowman  and  the  franklin's  maid. 


THE  OLD  HUNTSMAN 

There  's  a  keen  and  grim  old  huntsman 
On  a  horse  as  white  as  snow; 

Sometimes  he  is  very  swift 

And  sometimes  he  is  slow. 

But  he  never  is  at  fault. 

For  he  always  hunts  at  view. 

And  he  rides  without  a  halt 
After  you. 

The  huntsman's  name  is  Death, 

His  horse's  name  is  Time ; 

He  is  coming,  he  is  coming, 

As  I  sit  and  write  this  rhyme ; 
141 


142  THE   OLD   HUNTSMAN 

He  is  coming,  he  is  coming, 

As  you  read  the  rhyme  I  write ; 
You  can  hear  the  hoofs'  low  drumming 
Day  and  night. 


You  can  hear  the  distant  drumming 
As  the  clock  goes  tick-a-tack. 

And  the  chiming  of  the  hours 
Is  the  music  of  his  pack. 

You  may  hardly  note  their  growling 
Underneath  the  noonday  sun. 

But  at  night  you  hear  them  howling 
As  they  run. 

And  they  never  check  or  falter 

For  they  never  miss  their  kill ; 

Seasons  change  and  systems  alter. 
But  the  hunt  is  running  still. 


THE   OLD    HUNTSMAN  143 

Hark !  the  evening  chime  is  playing, 
O'er  the  long  gray  town  it  peals ; 
Don't  you  hear  the  death-hound  baying 
At  your  heels  ? 

Where  is  there  an  earth  or  burrow  ? 

Where  a  cover  left  for  you  ? 
A  year,  a  week,  perhaps  to-morrow 

Brings  the  Huntsman's  death  halloo. 
Day  by  day  he  gains  upon  us. 

And  the  most  that  we  can  claim 
Is  that  when  the  hounds  are  on  us 
We  die  game. 

And  somewhere  dwells  the  Master, 

By  whom  it  was  decreed ; 
He  sent  the  savage  huntsman. 

He  bred  the  snow-white  steed. 


144  THE   OLD   HUNTSMAN 

These  hounds  which  run  forever, 
He  set  them  on  your  track ; 
He  hears  you  scream,  but  never 
Calls  them  back. 

He  does  not  heed  our  suing. 
We  never  see  his  face ; 

He  hunts  to  our  undoing, 

We  thank  him  for  the  chase. 

We  thank  him  and  we  flatter. 

We  hope  —  because  we  must  ■ 

But  have  we  cause  ?     No  matter ! 
Let  us  trust ! 


OF  • 
UNIVEI 

OF 


